


Drive Slowly

by Soobiebear



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 21:25:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19237402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soobiebear/pseuds/Soobiebear
Summary: Jeremy hasn't head from James in a few weeks and goes to investigate.





	Drive Slowly

**Author's Note:**

> One off sad fic, because I am going through some stuff in my life right now and have been using fic to help me cope. Implied major character death after illness, you have been forewarned.

Jeremy hadn’t heard from James in days. It wasn’t unusual, James often went on radio silence when there was no immediate work at hand, preferring to slink back into his own life and separate from work as much as he could. 

They really needed to talk about one of the Specials they had been discussing. The trip through the Egypt had been completely shot to bits, insurers bailing on them and even private security teams declining the task. Andy and Jeremy had already discussed with Hammond and most of the crew, sending the writers off in other directions as location managers scrambled to find someplace safer to film. 

James had been renting a place for the last few months, since the demolition of his house started and construction hit delay after delay. Jeremy remembered how to find the new flat even if James still had problems; Fulham not the hardest place in London to navigate once you figured out where the bend in the river was. He managed to park and walk to James’ place, intending to knock but letting himself in when he noticed the door wasn’t locked. The handle turned easily and the deadbolt hadn’t been thrown, something so utterly unlike James that Jeremy was immediately on edge. 

“Hello?” he called into the empty house, already postulating that perhaps someone had broken in, either a fan or a criminal unaware of exactly who the occupant was. “Anybody here?”

The clutter of life was spread throughout the house, but nothing looked ransacked. The TV was still on the wall. Piles of post sat in disorganized stacks, not strewn across the floor. 

Footstep sounded upstairs and Jeremy quickly tried to arm himself just in case, only managing to find a book and a large pillar candle within easy reach. The footfalls reached the stairs and Jeremy put himself behind the sofa, he’d have a few seconds of protection assuming the robber didn’t have a gun on him.

“Uncle Jeremy?” Izzy Hammond stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stared. “How did you get in?”

Jeremy relaxed. No stabbings today at any rate. “Door was unlocked.” Izzy frowned and moved to double check the lock, flipping the deadbolt and grumbling under her breath. “Is Rich here?”

Izzy went back to the stairs, using her body to block the stairway. “No,” she said, casually stretching across the stair like a stanchion.

“Izzy,” called an unfamiliar voice from upstairs. Izzy looked up the stairs and then back at Jeremy, eyes a bit too wide and hiding something.

“Stay here,” she said with a touch of Hammond finality from her father. Izzy took the stairs two at a time, leaving Jeremy to linger at the stairwell and strain his ears to listen. 

He’d been up there before and there wasn’t much. Two bedrooms, one of which James had set up as an office. Two bathrooms and a linen closet. It was smaller than his old house in Hammersmith but worked for short term.

Izzy said ‘Ok’ a lot and little else. The unfamiliar voice was too dark and husky to make out, heavily accented, clearly not James or Izzy. The groan of pain was James, quickly followed by the noise of someone vomiting. Jeremy grimaced. No wonder Izzy hadn’t wanted him to come up. No one wanted to be seen when they were sick. He wondered if it was James, or someone James knew. And why was Izzy here? Who had that other voice? His mind spun with more questions, driving him insane and making him miss vital snippets of speech.

Jeremy wasn’t a proud man and slowly crept up the stairs, listening as he climbed. He could help, he reckoned, hold a vomit bucket or fetch water or something. It was James vomiting. He’d heard him throw up from drink or bad food while traveling enough to know what he sounded like. 

He peeked around the corner and into James’ bedroom and immediately wished he hadn’t. James sat up on the bed with a pink bucket on his lap with some sort of drip attached to his chest. Willow held a cloth to his forehead and a woman in scrubs adjusted the tube connected to a hanging bag.

Jeremy quickly hustled back down the stairs and dropped onto the sofa, rubbing his hands into his eyes to try and erase what he’d seen. James flashed against this closed lids, grey looking and drawn, thinner than he’d been last month but what caught him was the hair. James valued his hair like Hammond valued his teeth. They were defining characteristics, things that people first noticed and that cartoons were drawn about. Had it been shaven down or had he suddenly gone bald? Jeremy couldn’t remember now, his mind blurring out the quick second’s glance. He’d had a port in his chest, much like Jeremy’s mother when she...

Jeremy held his breath. People didn’t get ports put in for the flu or bad haircuts. He wiped at his eyes and started at the stairs, hearing a clock tick away in the kitchen as the rest of the house was silent. Nothing moved and the air felt suddenly heavy.

When the shock passed he was on his feet again, leaning against the oak railing at the bottom of the stairs. “James...” he called out, trying not to sound as off-balanced as he felt.

There was noise upstairs, fabrics rustling and bedsprings moving. Two dry coughs and then a weak “Fuck off, Clarkson,” came tumbling out of the bedroom. 

Jeremy frowned, the dismissal lacking its usual vigor. “I know you’re up there, ya spaniel.”

Izzy poked her head out of the bedroom, enough for Jeremy to catch a flash of dark hair. “Fuck off. Come back tomorrow if you must.” She disappeared again and there were more noises in the quiet. Jeremy waited and watched, wondering if he should barge up anyway like was expected of him. 

“Thank you, Moyo,” Izzy said. Moyo had to be the nurse, Jeremy realized, the woman in the worn scrubs.

“No more than five an hour,” he heard through her accent. “Call us if something changes.”

“I will. Thank you.” Something zippered up and the nurse started to leave, meeting Jeremy’s glare as soon as she exited the bedroom.

“He is not good for visitors today,” Moyo said as she neared Jeremy, dragging a luggage on wheels behind her. “You should listen.”

Jeremy said nothing, instead eyeing her with unwarranted distaste as she walked past him and out the door. Jeremy waited at the foot of the stairs, still debating whether he should actually listen to medical advice or not.

Izzy headed down the stairs shortly after Moyo left, brushing past Jeremy’s questioning glare to lock the door again. “Already one crazy got in today, don’t need any more.”

Jeremy grabbed her elbow, holding her from returning upstairs. “What’s wrong with James?”

Izzy searched Jeremy’s face, trying to decipher how much he knew. “He’s sick.”

Jeremy pursed his lips. He could tell that much. 

“Really sick,” Izzy answered to Jeremy’s rolled eyes, not able to look him in the face. 

He hated playing these games, fishing for information like he was pulling teeth. “What kind of sick?”

Izzy stared at him again, like telling him anything would be divulging a state secret. A fluttering moan from upstairs made Izzy turn her head. She didn’t say anything, but her tight expression said too much. “Please leave.” She shook off his hold on her elbow. “He doesn’t want you to see him like this.”

It was unfair and Jeremy chafed against her suggestion. He’s been around his mother while she was ill, and visited Adrian right up until he passed away. There was little he hadn’t seen, and no way to make up for lost time. Jeremy shook his head. “Don’t care.”

Izzy held her ground. “I’m not going to fight you, Uncle Jeremy.” She’d probably tear him to pieces, scrappy and determined. “He will call later, or you can try again tomorrow when he feels better.”

“He’ll be better tomorrow?” Jeremy learned enough from what Izzy didn’t say. “Right,” he started, using his long legs to merely step around her. His mother had always felt better once the chemotherapy drugs flushed out, two or three days after a treatment. His brain supplied that James must be a Tuesday guy, crashing on Wednesday and better on Thursday.

His mother had been a Monday.

“Jeremy!” Izzy squealed, trying to hold him back as he slowly climbed he stairs again. He was determined, dodgy hip and all, and eventually Izzy gave up before she pulled them both down the stairs and broke both their necks.

He paused at the doorway, not really wanting to see what he’d already seen.

“At least wash your sodding hands,” Izzy pushed him away from the bedroom and to the nearest bath, using the opportunity to wash her own hands again. “Wash your hands,” she said, sharing what she’s been taught. “Anytime you leave the room, wash your hands.” The guest towels had been replaced with disposable paper towels, probably less likey to spread germs. “And don’t use this toilet. It’s... chemo.”

Jeremy nodded, soaping up his own hands. Toxic in, toxic out. Right.

“Masks next to the door.” She shifted on her feet, watching to make sure he washed properly. “Try not to stare, yeah?”

Jeremy nodded again, following her back to the bedroom. He leaned against the door frame as Izzy took her chair next to the bed and held James’ bruised hand.

“I thought I told you to go away.” James was propped up on pillows and the vomit bucket had been moved to his side.

“Sorry, he followed me home.” Izzy gave him a gentle squeeze, in compassion or warning Jeremy wasn’t sure. “Can we keep him?”

“He’s not house trained and he’ll only ruin the curtains.” Even if a lot of the force was gone from behind his voice, the wit and humor was still here.

“Good to see you too, you daft spanner.” Jeremy grabbed a mask and looped it over his ears, not wanting to expose James to any germs he wasn’t already acclimated to. He looked for a place to sit and found a wooden kitchen chair off to the side and dragged it back to the bed where the nurse had been using it. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

James’ head lulled on the pillow. “Not exactly ‘good news’,” he joked, causing Jeremy to smile at the old reference.

His shirt had been rearranged, the pajama top covering up his port and helping to hide his swollen belly. “But news none the less. You know it’s not my first trip with...” He didn’t want to say it. He’d already lost too many friends.

“Cancer, Jeremy.” James looked at him flatly, daring him to speak its name. Jeremy had to look away. He’d only lost Gilly a few years ago, and his mother right before that.

“Yes, well...” Jeremy brushed it aside without saying the C word. “How bad is it?”

Izzy took over while James rested. “Not bad, actually, for what it is. They caught it early and if he can get through the treatment there’s a good chance he can beat it.” She looked at James, still holding his hand. “Stage 1b?” James nodded. “Unusual to catch it that early. He’s quite lucky.”

Jeremy stated to feel like it was an inquisition. “Who else knows?” He didn’t want to spread word if James was trying to keep it private. There were plenty of people willing to help, but James had always been strange.

“My mum, brother and sisters and their families. The Hammonds. Colin. Sarah.” He raked his eyes up and down Jeremy’s front. “That’s it.” It had been both a plea and a warning.

“I want to help.” Jeremy knew he didn’t really have much to offer, and even if he could help it would just draw unwanted attention. 

“Nothing to be done,” James shook his head and Jeremy missed the swing of shaggy locks. “Finish chemo and then...” James coughed and pulled the bucket back on to his lap, but didn’t vomit. 

“They want to take out part of his liver.”

James swallowed hard. “They’re still working that out, because of all the drink.” He paused again and they watched a wave of nausea pass through him. “Might not be an option.”

James closed his eyes and leaned back into his mound of pillows. “The Mongolia trip probably saved his life.” Izzy talked over James in quieter tones. Jeremy raised an eyebrow. “Helped him detox enough n’then when he quit drinking it wasn’t such a shock to his system.” Izzy let go of his hand finally and carefully set it by his side. James looked like he had fallen asleep. “The alcohol withdrawl would have killed him long before the cancer could have.”

Jeremy boggled. He knew James drank. Hell, they all drank copiously, but he didn’t think they were actually that badly addicted. He used the lull in conversation to look James over, deciding he looked much better with eyebrows. Strange how people walked around with cancer and you never knew. It sounded like James had a good prognosis once he got over this little hurdle. Hurdles. He’d have to tell Andy soon, change up the filming schedule or figure something out. The Middle East special was already off the cards and all the other locations would have to be postponed or shot without James - neither a good option.

James’ breathing hitched as he fell asleep. With his face relaxed he looked suddenly old.

“Sarah, his sister Sarah, is coming around six to take over care.” Izzy had touched James’ hand again, sliding her hand to cover his. “She’s going to spend the night and then Dad will be round in the morning.”

“Do you take turns?” He was still boggled that they’d kept James’ illness from him. 

Izzy couldn’t meet his gaze, suddenly very interested in the weave of the duvet covering James. “Nothing formal, and only on the bad days.”

“Does he often have bad days?” Izzy only frowned. “Right, pencil me in, I’ll take a shift.”

“Jeremy...” Izzy sounded too much like her mother.

“How about now? I can stay now.” He had nothing going on except a night in and a bottle of wine. The flat could use a basic cleaning before the maid came, but nothing that couldn’t be done in a hurry later.

Izzy looked at him critically and then down at James’ sleeping face. “Alright,” she said warily. “But if anything happens, you call Moyo or 999.” Izzy pointed to the low dresser that was being used as a table. “Her number’s on the desk.” She got up and opened the first drawer. “Nausea pills, pain pills, vitamins - he’s already had his dose this morning. Insulin, just in case.” Izzy held up a small bottle and a very thin needle and syringe. “He should be ok until Sarah gets here.” She shut the drawer again and watched James. “Go easy on him, alright? He’s been through a lot.”

Jeremy nodded; the last month must have been nothing short of hell for someone as private as James.

“I’ll bring up a book before I go. There’s a lot of nothing while he sleeps.”

“Thanks, Iz.” She disappeared down the stairs and Jeremy turned his attention back to James. He was puffy from treatments, but thin in the wrong spots. The Pink-Bob Geldof hairless look didn’t suit him. Jeremy reached out and held James’ hand. He would probably squirm away and shout if he were awake, but asleep he didn’t complain. His hand was warm and Jeremy relaxed slightly. “Daft spaniel,” he said to keep the tears at bay.

Izzy climbed the stairs again, Jeremy counting each step as she made her way up. Fourteen. “I didn’t know what you’d like so...” She set the Herman Wouk volume on the bedside table. “I’m going home, I’ll text you when I get there.”

“Drive carefully,” Jeremy said as a parting, surprised when Izzy landed a hand on his shoulder and pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head.

“I will,” Izzy said and was gone again. She shuffled around downstairs a bit before Jeremy heard the front door close. James hadn’t moved and Jeremy tried to get comfortable in the seat for his vigil. He looked at his watch - four hours. He could do four hours. No worse than a meeting with Andy.

He turned back to James only to watch one eye slam shut. His breathing was still slow and measured, too timed to be natural. Jeremy had slept beside him enough to know. “Tosser,” he said softly and watched as James’ eyes opened slowly.

“Hello, cockface,” James said wheezily. 

“I think that’s someone else’s line,” Jeremy bantered back. 

They lapsed into silence as James rested and Jeremy didn’t know where to start. There were a million questions he wanted to ask, a million things he wanted to scream at James for and still nothing would come. Nothing ever helped, not with Adrain and not with his mum. 

“How bad is it really?” James was prone to lying when it suited him, cheating when he could, and doing it for the best of reasons when it counted the most. No one with stage one cancer looked this horrible.

An eye slowly slid open, the usual bright blue dimmed from inside. “Not good.”

“You weren’t honest with Rich?”

James shut his eye again and turned his face slightly away from Jeremy. All Jeremy could do was sigh and squeeze James’ hand slightly. Maybe James would open up more with time, depending on how much more he had.

"You should have told me," he said softly, half cursing himself for not checking in himself.

"Will you shut up?" James didn't bother to look at Jeremy, struggling to get his annoyance across as his body refused to stay awake.

Jeremy shifted his grip on James' hand, running a thumb over the prominent vessels and age spots on the back. "I'll be here while you sleep."

James drifted off quickly, the cancer and treatments zapping his energy. Jeremy watched him sleep, readjusting his mask where it had gone itchy across his nose. Carefully he released James' hand and set it against James' hip, reaching into his pocket for his glasses and grabbing the book Izzy had brought up.

The long string of days and nights at hospital bedsides started unexpectedly, but Jeremy found there was no better way to honor his friend. "Thank you," James has said unexpectedly one day after a long bout of silence, high on morphine and near the end of his run. 

Jeremy stiffened his upper lip, refusing to cry again. He nodded, knowing that James preferred things unsaid and merely reached out for his hand. The weak squeeze back meant more to Jeremy than any words ever would.

"Drive slowly for me once in a while, will you?"

"I will," Jeremy promised. He kept holding onto James' hand as James slept again, only minutes of consciousness between long bouts of unrestful sleep.


End file.
